It’s a Halo of Flies sort of Friday morning (their old “Music for Insect Minds” compilation CD, specifically). Of all the slightly-grelber grunt-rock that I listened to in the late 80s (staggered beats, overwrought wah-wah pedal, metallic rok riffs), they still hold up okay. Ironically, few care.
It’s been silent around these parts, or rather, I have been. One too many blogging platforms to attend to, two too many work deadlines, three too many barely-functioning laptops to revive (why, exactly)? In some respects, posting to an unread blog is freeing. A tree falling in the forest.
A dark morning (literally). Today will be sleepier than usual but I refuse to complain about it. It’s time to get things moving forward with the help of black coffee, a morning shave (not too fast, remember) and a shower. This week is a week of shifting priorities and personal review.
I don’t really mind the time change - the extra hour of sunlight at the end of the day comes in pretty handy - but it does make getting motivated in the morning 60 minutes harder than usual. Plans for today include driving on the freeway (twice) and listening to some form of old time audio drama.
An uncomfortable silence, some shifting from one foot to another anxiously, a little long-distance staring from the train platform towards the bay and the incoming fog bank. I’ve been refraining from posting here for a number of reasons, some of ‘em being simply that my brain is too preoccupied.
Long day of torrential rain and blasting wind, and I’m resisting the urge to seek refuge under the nearest duvet. I look forward to tonight’s sleep, but have a little worry about the dreams in store.
We’re all Devo, if it hadn’t been long confirmed by now. It’s been a kinda stressful day of skimming news reports, sifting through analysis, taking mini-breaks to walk around the block, and remembering to breathe slowly. The doomscrolling habits I acquired back in 2016 have reasserted themselves.
Sunday Night Blues are a real thing, and I’m sitting right here as living proof. What’s in store for tomorrow morning? Waking up dark and early, checking off a list of work tasks, and finding the comfort in little moments. Tonight I watch a classic film I’ve avoided for years out of stubbornness.
Late Saturday Morning: A time of puttering. Shuffling from one coffee cup to the next, chores that only require basic motor skills (laundry, cat-brushing), and quiet contemplation. Late Saturday Morning Soundtrack: The Liquids, Devo and the Beta Boys. There are no eggs, but there is Egg Punk.
I’m telling you! Having not designed a website since the pre-smartphone era, I’m out-of-the-loop on all the modern contrivances you gotta manage now. Weird to think of it all dumping into someone’s phone, and that being the primary way it’ll be seen by the populace. Talk about learning curves.
In proper observance of today (it being a holiday and all), I’m going to spend most of the day pulling weeds and listening to 1980s Italian hardcore (that is to say Raw Power, Wretched, Negazione, CCM, Indigesti and the like). Maybe its breakneck velocity will lead to some cathartic revelation.
Made a half-hearted attempt to sort through stacks of DVDs and Blu-ray discs that have been slowly growing in height for longer than I care to remember. Factoid: I have two copies of Last Year at Marienbad in my possession, when most movie-watchers would be happy with zero. Time for a rewatch.
